


Crown the King

by Corycides



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Revels, F/M, post-comic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5602996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mia Clayton is no fan of Sebastian Monroe, but in a strange country he's a familiar face. Besides, they have a lot in common. Both rootless, both alone, and they both have a plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crown the King

**Author's Note:**

> Twelve Days of Revels - Day Four: Blackout Verse  
> Mia Clayton betrayed her sister - right? (This fic might have gone a bit astray from the prompt, but it started there!)

Sometimes - two drinks in on her way to dreamland - Mia made up stories about what her life would have been like if the world hadn’t ended. In some she was Xiomara Clayton, in a glittering silver dress on the red carpet as she waved an award Mia vaguely remembered as being gold and sparkly. In others she was Chef Clayton, making food that tasted like food and not just dead stuff warmed over.

The trouble was, she always had to wake up - and she was just Mia Clayton, traitor for hire. There was no dress, and the food tasted like shoe leather. Sometimes the food was shoe leather.

Still, she had a plan. So she kept getting up, saddling her horse, and heading south. At least the weather got better.

‘Well,’ she said, slouched at the table in a shithole Belize bar. ‘I say a plan, but…’

Monroe ran his index finger around the greasy rim of his glass, and twisted his mouth in an empty smirk. ‘Mostly just drinking and getting as far from the past as possible?’

She pursed her lips. ‘OK, I’ve got  _ slightly  _ more of a plan than you do.’

The last person she’d expected to see down here was President Sebastian Monroe. For a start, he’d always been kind of racist. For another, there was no sign of the World’s Biggest Dickhole in the area. Still, there he’d been, drunk and bitter and killing eight local soldiers with no sign of enjoyment.

She killed the ninth, using a bullet to scramble his brains before he could do the same thing to Monroe with a cudgel. Monroe hadn’t exactly been grateful and he wasn’t exactly her favourite person, but they’d still ended up here trading stories over booze.

Go far enough into the unfamiliar, and even the hateful is appreciated for its familiarity.

‘My sister’s dead,’ she said. 

‘Yeah,’ Monroe said. ‘I heard. Didn’t really care.’

‘I did,’ Mia said. She reached over the table and grabbed the bottle of soursop wine, tilting it to top up her glass. Monroe’s eyes - paler than ever against his dark tan - followed the line of her arm to the curve of her breasts through her thin t-shirt. It was empty as his smirk, a knee jerk reflex of physical attraction with nothing behind it. ‘I still do.’

‘If you’re looking for Miles-’

Mia shook her head. ‘He didn’t kill her. He just hurt her, and apparently she was OK with that. It’s the Patriot I want to pay. They put it all into motion, they made a mockery out of everything she believed in, and they didn’t even manage to kill you.’

‘We beat the Patriots. Texas and the Plains wiped them off the map.’

‘Stings to give them credit?’ 

‘Course not.’

‘Good thing it’s balls then isn’t it?’ she said, lifting her glass.

‘Is it?’

The wine tasted sharp and sugary, like fermented lemons. Monroe had grumbled about it needing a tiny umbrella, but all Mia cared about was that it was alcoholic. 

‘If you are far from the enemy, make him believe you are near,’ Mia quoted. Her mouth twisted into a grin when he gave her a surprised look. ‘When I was young and impressionable, I was impressed with you. You were very impressed with Sun Tzu.’

Monroe ran his tongue over his lower lip, tasting the curve of his mouth. ‘That’s because I was a pretentious bastard, Mia.’

‘Still, no one abandons their base of operations to invade new territory,’ she said. Setting her glass down, she ticked her points off on her fingers. ‘You need a safe retreat, you need lines of supply, you need to make sure you don’t end up with a revolt at your rear, you…know all these.’

Monroe hooked his arm over the back of his chair, fingers tapping the splintered wood. ‘Does it matter? I’m a washed up drunk, with a dead son and without even a decimated war clan from the Plains to back me. What could I do about the Patriots? Piss on them?’

‘Good point,’ Mia said. ‘You’re such a loser my sister might have even fancied you.’

His eyes narrowed, a flash of venom in his pale eyes. Whatever he was going to say was interrupted as the door the pub was kicked open, a short, angry man with a gun in his hand stalked in. Four much bigger men flanked him.

‘You the fuck who killed my men?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes as he stared at Monroe.

Monroe picked up the bottle from the table and swigged it back, throat working. ‘I was,’ he said, wiping his mouth. ‘Why? Do you have a problem with it.’

Mia slid out of her seat and backed away, holding her hands up and pulling her best harmless country girl face. The men glanced at her and away, dismissing her in favour of the real threat. Monroe kept grinning, eyes fierce and strange, as he waited for them to move.

‘Did you think I wasn’t going to respond?’ the short man - Antoine Flowers, if Mia remembered her territory mapping correctly - demanded. ‘Who are you? Are you mad?’

‘Not the first to ask,’ Mia said dryly, dropping a thin knife out of her sleeve and into her hand. She cocked her arm back and threw, burying the skinny blade in one of the henchman’s eyes. He screamed - a squawk of horrified sound - as his eyeball burst and dribbled down his cheek. 

In the split second that no-one was looking at him, Monroe moved. He smashed the bottle against the table, sweet wine spilling with a fruity aroma, and crossed the room in two, long strides. Flowers swung at him, Monroe blocked with his forearm and punched the bottle into Flowers face in a series of short, vicious jabs.

It didn’t leave much of the man’s face. Even Mia had to look away. It left a strong impression on the locals.

‘I’m Jimmy King,’ Monroe said, standing up and spitting out someone else’s blood. ‘Mad or not, now you do what I tell you.’

*****************

It wasn’t quite that simple, but six months later they were in Cancun and Jimmy King had his army. Mia stood on the balcony of the villa he’d seized as his headquarters, holding a light cotton sheet over her breasts. It was close enough to the docks that Mia could see the Patriot’s ship at anchor, the stars and stripes flag flying from their mast.

‘You had a plan,’ she said.

‘I might have,’ Monroe said. He came up behind her, hands resting on her hips and his mouth hot against her shoulder. She could feel his bare chest against her shoulders. ‘And you, Mia, you still have a plan?’

‘Yeah,’ she said

‘Going to share?’

She turned around and let the sheet drop. The sun was warm on her skin, gilding tan skin gold from nipples to hips. Monroe made a thick, appreciative sound at the sight and caught her wrist, pulling her back into the bedroom. She let him, standing on her toes to scrape her teeth in not-quite gentle bites along his jaw.

‘I’m going to wait until you succeed in getting yourself killed,’ she said. ‘Then I take over as General.’

He just grinned at her, that mad, strange grin he wore in a fight, and didn’t deny that he was trying to get himself killed. Maybe she was wrong. There were times that she thought she had Monroe’s next move figured out and he side-swiped her, but this time… Mia had seen him fight. He fought like he thought he was invincible, and like he didn’t care if he wasn’t.

Mia pushed him onto the bed and straddled his hips, unzipping his jeans with practical, scarred fingers. His cock was already half-hard, rising eagerly into her hands.

They still weren’t friends. It was just one of those inevitable fuck-up fucks that you have to get out of our system. Monroe’s cock was still working even if his heart wasn’t, and Mia had the Clayton obsession with making bad choices.

She lowered herself onto him, folding her upper lip between her teeth as the hard length of him stretched her pussy. Monroe sprawled under her, hands tracing lazy patterns on her thighs and up her sides to the skin pulled tight over her ribs.

‘Why don’t you hate me?’ he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Mia braced her hands on his shoulders and rocked her hips against him, sucking in a quick breath of hot air as pleasure itched teasingly in the pit of her stomach. 

‘Who says I don’t?’ she asked. The memory was there in the back of her mind, kept fresh so she didn’t forget who she was dealing with. Blood clogging her nose and Monroe’s boot on her throat, pressing down until she choked as he offered her a choice: death or her sister.

He glanced down to where his cock disappeared into her, the neat curls between her legs wet with arousal. ‘It doesn’t seem like it.’

Putting all her weight on one arm, Mia reached around and moved his hand to her breast. He obediently squeezed, callused thumb scraping roughly over her nipple.

‘I’m not Nora,’ Mia said, trying to keep her voice as steady as the rhythm of her hips. ‘I’m not going to become your Gal Friday, I’m not going to watch your back.’

‘You watch my back.’

She slapped him, jerking his head to the side. He didn’t move for a second, then turned his head back to look at her. The slap was outlined on his face in red, and his eyes were bright with banked lust.

‘It’s a nice back,’ she said. Leaning down she kissed him hard, letting him bite her lips until it hurt. ‘I watch your back because it’s my best interests,’ she said, lifting her head enough to let the words out. ‘In the end, that’s always what I care about. It’s why I betrayed my sister to you.’

He caught her ass in both hands, pulling her down hard. She hissed, squinting her eyes shut, as her body clenched and fluttered around him. The rasp of his voice was an almost physical thing. ‘Because I threatened you.’

Mia opened her eyes and blinked down at him, struggling to hold herself on the edge of orgasm without tilting over.

‘Because she  _ left _ me,’ she said. The old anger was rough in her voice, the rawness of it still surprising her. ‘I was a  _ kid _ , and she took off with Miles and left me to take care of myself. She never came back, never bothered to call me. I loved her, and I’ll avenge her, but the most important thing she ever taught me? People  _ always  _ put their own interests first.’

Heat flashed in Monroe’s eyes and he rolled them over, pinning her to the bed. He caught her hands and pinned them over her head. 

‘I want a kid,’ he told her.

Mia’s eyes went wide and she arched under him, trying to throw him off. He groaned out a curse and used his weight to shove her back down. Mia squirmed around him, sheets tangling her uer.

‘I  _ will  _ kill you,’ she said. ‘If you fucking-’

He thrust into her again, shoving her down into the mattress hard enough to jolt the breath out of her. 

‘Not till you agree,’ he said. Despite herself Mia wrapped her legs around him, crossing her ankles and trying to pull him deeper. He panted the words in her ear, grinding them out in time with the hammering his hips. ‘But I want a child, I want a legacy. I want something other than insults and atrocities to carry my name when I die. And if you’re not the mother...’

He bit her shoulder, teeth digging down into her collarbone, and the restless tightness in the pit of her stomach broke its bounds. Pleasure flooded her, tossing her wits like flotsam, and if he growled someone else’s name she didn’t care. It was only afterwards that she realised Monroe had been true to his word. He’d come on her thigh, wet and sticky.

They lay in the sweaty tangle of sheets, the weight on his hot and careless on top of her.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, shoving him off her. ‘After we’ve finished the Patriots off. Otherwise, I’m just a hostage waiting to happen.’

Monroe just looked at her with strange, mad eyes, and held his peace.


End file.
